The Road Back

Top to Bottom:  Rio Hondo as it reaches Belize, and Pollo Asado and Squirt refueling station, Tulum, Mexico, my hotel pool where victory laps took place, Merida 2011-2012

I have been back a month, and as I watch snow flakes fall on a late evening in March, it feels a bit as though I never left, as it seems like winter is coming rather than going. This Yucatan trip was the hardest trip that I have made in some time.  Language acquisition was particularly important as I navigated the Yucatan Peninsula in crisscross fashion for months on end.  It was a project that I dreamed up several years ago.  It made me sit through Spanish classes at Instituto Cervantes, NYC, spend a winter watching only Latin films, buy verb flashcards, and a kayak that I would later strap to my back day after day.  I swam laps at the pool and carried heavy buckets to a hundred roofs, knowing that each one made me a little stronger and a little closer to returning to the kind of travel that I always loved. The preparation was often seemingly on the back burner as I felt a bit trapped in city life.  "Too many depended upon me," I was told.  But then it dawned on me that I depended upon myself as well, and I barely recognized the New Yorker that I was fast becoming.  I needed an exit strategy and it was named "operation cenote."

So with work completed, I left, and few even realized I was gone.  That is NY for you as there is always someone or something that replaces you quite rapidly.  I arrived to every travelers nightmare where nearly every bit of travel preparation that I had made promptly went belly up upon my arrival.  From car rental agreements to the beach house that I rented.  Then hospitalization and several epi pen injections, and a brutal recovery from severe burns caused by my prescribed medicine's interaction with the sun...and all this within the first weeks.  I had to roll with a roller coaster ride of experiences that no one could have anticipated.

I came very close to giving up, but then realized that I could convalesce in Mexico and gather my inner courage.  Luckily, I did just that.  I forced myself to bed rest, editing, research, plus very large breakfasts and a lot of DIY first aid.  I learned that every trip to the Pharmacy could be an entertaining language lab.  I Used prior travel medicine knowledge to help me out of a rather scary two weeks with second degree burns on 1/3 of my body.  I cried when I looked at myself in the mirror on several occasions.  I feared infection, scaring and more days of pain.  I am happy to report that though there were many days of pain and a lot of tears, I was able to ward off both infection and scaring.  It gradually appeared that I was on my way to being as good as new.

I celebrated my recovery with a nighttime swim in the little hotel pool. I shivered and was still shy about the amount of scars that were still visible at that time, but I thought,"tough, I am swimming anyway," and I am very glad that I did.  For me, being visibly wounded is often harder than being invisibly wounded.  It brings out my shyness to the point of nearly sidetracking my activity. As I get older, I keep the shyness at bay the best I can. I donned my most elegant swim suit and the silk sarong that my former students had once lovingly covered in inspired swirls of dye, custom made for me, and down the stairs I went to the pool. My private celebration was briefly interrupted by the muffled applause of a beautiful Mexican lady who knew a bit of my story. It was a victory of recovering past the point of dangerous infection, and from that point on, time would slowly heal the scars left on the inside and out.  More importantly it was a more private victory tribute to being able to believe in oneself no matter what.          

To be continued...